


gonna carry me home to the one i love

by carentans



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Did I Mention They Get a Dog?, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, George Luz is Impulsive, George and Joe are Really in Love and It's Gross, I've Only Seen The Show Thrice, Joe Says Fuck, Joe Toye Tries to be Mad at his BF, M/M, Maybe OOC but You Can't Blame Me, They Have a Morning Routine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and they are, their friends tease them, they deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 07:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carentans/pseuds/carentans
Summary: Otherwise known as the time George brought home a dog, and she stayed.





	gonna carry me home to the one i love

**Author's Note:**

> i just love dogs, and dogs with stupid names.

It had been the (puppy dog) eyes that got him. 

Normally, George liked to pride himself in saying that nothing affected him, that he had a pokerface of steel and absolutely would not be influenced by the littlest of things. 

(Such a comment could be vehemently denied by anyone who had known him more than a few minutes.) 

But he was also allowed to be emotional and animated, he’d claim. He could find things funny or cry at sad movies. He could fearlessly jump off roofs but fear dark alleys. He could huff out of impatience or apathetically let his day slip by. He could be the textbook example of walking contradictions. 

He was  _ allowed to be a dynamic human being, thank you very much _ . 

(More like a dynamic moron, Guarnere would probably say, and lead the group in pointing out his flaws.) 

Regardless, he would puff up his chest and pretend to be everything he wasn’t. Any little comment to exaggerate his own ego was satisfying enough. 

He went through his day making dozens of brazen statements, voicing his opinions on everything from exactly how long someone should stare in an elevator to Joe Toye’s hands, which he thought were fantastic, by the way. 

Within days of meeting George, Joe had learned to handle his excessive streams of consciousness. It was obvious that George talked because he liked the sound of his own voice, and Joe made sure to remind him of just that. Joe let him unwind on any topic he chose, for however long he wanted, but if this occurred during movies, sex, or showers, he’d quickly interrupt with a  _ shut up, George _ . 

Joe Toye told George he found him annoying the moment they met, once George had slung his arm around his waist and immediately started in on his latest tangent. It was 11:49 on New Years Eve, and Joe was not drunk enough to properly handle his babbling. He looked like he just wanted to kiss him, which was difficult when George never shut up, but he managed. (And that’s how they got together, forgoing the anticipation of the New Year countdown and kissing at 11:51. They left the bar minutes later and made it back to Joe’s place by 12:06.) 

They had mutual friends, so Joe knew of George. George was the life of the party, a loudmouth who thought himself hilarious and enjoyed the attention. Joe was, quite simply, the opposite. He was happy in a small group of friends, listening to conversation and only contributing when necessary. As complements, they balanced the worst of each others’ extremes.

George survived 24 years before ever meeting Joe. He’d always been impulsive, but college mellowed those tendencies and made him into a somewhat functional adult. He signed a contract, got a paycheck, paid his bills, and even started a savings account. (Well, he tried to save when he wasn’t being forced to spend big bucks to correct small inconveniences.) He was  _ responsible _ now.

He had his moments, though, when he just couldn’t help himself. Sometimes that meant drinking too much tequila on a Tuesday because Babe had dared him to, or jumping down the last flight of stairs because  _ why not? _ He didn’t always require his friends to get into trouble. He wasn’t a reckless teenager anymore that required attention at all times (or else he would  _ die _ ). Sometimes, he just liked to entertain himself, and if that meant drawing an audience, he wouldn’t complain.

George was in a serious relationship now. He had someone he could bounce ideas off of  _ just ‘cause _ . Joe always seemed to point out rather obvious solutions (that had completely bypassed George), like the fact he didn’t have to use the expired milk just because he’d spent money on it. Joe was the immovable object to George’s unstoppable force. 

Sure, he had perfectly reasonable friends that could make these observations, but Joe was his very serious boyfriend who he loved. He actually liked hearing Joe’s input, and he figured this is what relationships were supposed to be about. Joe wasn’t there to mother him; he looked out for him, yes, but George was very much his own person. 

Though, when Joe wasn’t there to push back, his rational adult skills disappeared. With Joe, his actions actively affected two people, instead of just him. 

So, George was also a little selfish sometimes, but who wasn’t? 

He thought himself charitable to stop in front of the two kids and their box. He figured he could at least act interested in the contents before continuing on his errands. He promised himself he wouldn’t care about the lazy way the kids talked about ‘getting rid’ of the runt of the litter. He wouldn’t care that the puppy with the floppy ears shouldn’t be in a box this small. And he  _ certainly _ wouldn’t care about the lonesome but sweet set of puppy dog eyes staring back up at him. 

(Because nothing affected him.)

Within the hour, George had cleared his schedule and filled his bags with supplies - everything from puppy chow to squeaky toys. He bought the collar, made the nameplate tag, attached the leash, and that had been that. 

Two hours later saw George back home, his new friend already comfortable on the couch. He hadn’t minded that her paws tracked mud across the carpet. (It’s just dirt!) He hadn’t minded that she jumped onto the couch with such force she knocked into the side table and caused an avalanche of picture frames tumbling to the floor. (Only cracked the glass!) He hadn’t minded she made her way over to him and laid her head down in his lap as though she was the only thing that mattered. (A compelling argument!) Her coat was fine and thin, and he hadn’t minded that each pet shedded hair on his jeans. (He’ll wash tomorrow!) 

George hadn’t heard the door open, but as quite the ferocious guard dog, she simply and lazily raised her head to look. It was Joe’s choked noise that caught his attention. 

“Hi, honey,” he said. In the evening, George tested terms of endearment in his search for the perfect one, and usually he was met with an indifference. Once George set his course, he was nearly impossible to stop. Their friends were more than familiar with George’s sickly sweet affection, and he had an endless vocabulary of loving terms for everyone he met.

“What the fuck,” Joe spluttered instead of his usual silence, closing the door behind him (with slightly more force than necessary) and moving into the living room. 

Joe had various responses upon coming home, and sometimes, he started out with something bold and simmering down from there. He rarely lost his cool in public, but once home, George was there to sympathize. Joe would get angry, pacing and talking up a storm, but once it was out in the open, he moved on. 

“That bad, huh?” George questioned, looking up at him, wondering why Joe hadn’t already told him to shove over so he could take his usual place on the couch. 

He was met with a hard stare. Rarely was this anger ever directed at George, so he wasn’t too threatened.

“George.” Joe said forcefully, making it very evident it was he,  _ George Luz _ , that was the issue, “What the fuck.” 

This response set him on edge, and his brows shot up in response. The last they’d spoken was before lunch when George texted him a dozen pictures from their weekend Joe had asked for. 

But Joe didn’t elaborate on his anger. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to drag information from his notoriously withheld boyfriend. His silence meant that Joe was thinking, preventing himself from saying anything he’d regret (since George didn’t often back down from a fight). 

Joe out a harsh breath. “That is a  _ dog _ . In your lap.” He pointed out. “ _ In our home _ .” 

George hadn’t been playing coy, like he was trying to poorly sneak something by him. In his impulsive decision, he hadn’t considered that coming home to a new dog could be alarming. He’d grown up in chaos, expecting the unexpected. This was all rather representational of what went on in his mind - when he jumped so fast from one point to the next he often forewent the necessary steps along the way. 

To him, adopting a very cute dog had made sense. It had taken less than 30 seconds after seeing her cute puppy dog eyes for him to fly through the risks and responsibilities of a new pet and decide on  _ yes _ . 

“That’s right,” George said delicately and distracted himself by petting the dog’s head. 

George wasn’t sure what to say. He suddenly felt like he was 17 again, cornered in his room as his mother shook his once-secret cigarettes at him. He knew that Joe (probably) wouldn’t start yelling, but the tone of his voice pointed to anger. 

This was, he guessed, a pretty big step for their relationship, even if George claimed total responsibility. 

Joe looked seconds from detonation, so George forged ahead. 

“This is Tater Tot,” he announced, but actively prevented himself from using any sort of silly voice to sell his point. “She is 3 months old, likes pepperoni, and riding in the backseat. She is an angel,” George explained, scratching under her chin. 

“She was an accident - both to her first family and to ours but... she’s the best. I’m really sorry I brought her home without talking to you first,” he said quickly. 

His explanation did little to placate Joe, but George could tell the room wasn’t quite as tense. 

“She was the only one left, and I felt bad about leaving her in the box. She looked like she could use a friend, and you know how good I am at making friends.” 

“Jesus,” Joe huffed and sat in the chair closest to the couch. 

He’d barely managed to sit before Tater Tot had bound over George’s lap and made the leap into Joe’s. 

“Ah, fuck.” Joe sighed, resigned. He sounded a little like he had when he met George, the annoyance quickly fading away into something gentler. His expression and hands were softer, focused on the small dog in his lap. 

“ _ Tater Tot _ , huh?” 

##

George was sworn from talking about how Tater Tot became a part of their family. 

He wasn’t allowed to point out that Tater Tot took to Joe like he was her mother or that Joe absolutely fell in love before she’d gotten all the way in his lap. 

Tater Tot became Joe’s dog regardless how hard George tried. Sure, she  _ tolerated _ him when Joe was out, but she would shoot straight to the door the moment Joe got home. At meal times, she waited patiently at his feet for her daily helpings of table scraps. Joe could barely go anywhere in the apartment without Tater Tot at his heels. Joe spent his evenings teaching her basic obedience, and once Tater Tot mastered that, they continued to more advanced tricks. She’d wag her tail, and Joe’d give her a smile.

(He was definitely not allowed to mention Joe’s pitiful, mopey attitude when she spent the day at the veterinarian.) 

Joe had a reputation to uphold, and since George adopted the dog without his approval, he had to abide by his conditions. 

Their friends had been just as surprised to receive the new dog news.

“A dog? What are you, crazy?” Bill replied when they called to explain their absence at the bar. “George can’t remember to water a fucking plant, and you don’t even  _ like _ dogs.” 

In the background, Babe chimed in with, “A dog? That’s great!” 

“Ah, shut up, they weren’t calling you,” Bill said before raising his voice to address the rest of the group. “Hey guys, ya hear? Luz picked up a stray, and Joe Toye here brought ‘em home! Sounds like when you idiots introduced them at the party.”

“I wonder how long this will last,” Malarkey piped up. 

“Yeah, who’s out first? Luz or the dog?” Perconte added. “I got $20 on Luz.” 

George didn’t have the chance to defend his honor before Joe succinctly ended the discussion.

“You dickheads yelling are disturbing our dog. Don’t expect us tomorrow night either,” Joe said, ending the call. 

(Their friends also decided to mock Tater Tot’s name, and while Joe had his own opinions on the matter, he was quick to shoot them down. She was a  _ dog _ , for God’s sake, but  _ yes, _ Tater Tot was the perfect name for her.) 

It had taken a few weeks before their friends could believe that the dog was there to stay. (George hadn’t thought twice about adopting, and Joe’s love had been instantaneous, so giving her up wasn’t an option.)

Tater Tot squeezed into their lives like she’d helped to pick the apartment. 

She’d get up with Joe and return to George still in bed. Her leash hung on a hook by the door, where she’d patiently wait for her walk. There was always something new and interesting to sniff at in the stairwell. The block around their building was filled with people starting their morning, and Tater Tot always liked meeting strangers. A bag of her food sat in the pantry, and her bowl sat out of the way against the wall in the kitchen. Her evenings were quiet, spent watching television or sleeping. She chose her corner of the couch and had her own blanket. Their bed was just tall enough she had to take a running leap at it, and the end of their bed became her bed.

Truthfully, George didn’t have much a secret to keep. Their friends already knew how much Tater Tot meant to Joe. 

He looked substantially less frightening with Tater Tot - a yellow lab mix with big paws and little legs - by his side. With her, he was forced into many polite conversations as strangers stopped and asked to pet her. She didn’t quite understand she wasn’t a big dog, so each step was a giant bound on unfamiliar legs. Her tail wagged more often than not, and she couldn’t sit still, wiggling with unspent energy. 

(George supposed that was exactly what he looked like when  _ he _ was with Joe, and maybe that’s why Tater Tot and Joe stuck together so quick.)

## 

George had lived with Joe (and Tater Tot) long enough to not be disturbed when they got up before the sun. They’d perfected being quiet, Joe getting ready as Tater Tot yawned and stretched on the floor. 

Joe had a schedule, and it was rare he ever broke it. He’d get out of bed, pick up his sweatpants, and get dressed walking to the kitchen. After putting on his shoes, he’d turn on the coffee pot, and then they’d head out of the apartment. Tater Tot was spoiled rotten and quite used to her 30 minute walks, monopolizing his attention and enjoying the quiet. When they returned to the apartment, Tater Tot expected her treat, and she would carry it back to the bed.

George and Joe never had to worry about being in each others’ way in the morning. Joe could take his shower and have his breakfast without George grumbling his way through waking up. He was guilty of his own routine, taking far too long to move from laying to sitting, to getting out of bed and standing in the bathroom. He spent even longer in front of the closet and had to return to the bathroom to fix his hair. George figured their relationship would end and he’d be out on his ass if Joe’s morning was slowed down by his reluctance to do anything. 

George had gotten lucky with his job, and he wasn’t technically required to show up until 10. He’d race the clock every morning, having to decide between breakfast or lunch, and still arrive at his desk half asleep. When Joe made his wake-up call, there was still enough time for George to return to sleep. 

He required more than Tater Tot jumping to and from the bed to wake him up. Joe could move the bed, and he’d probably sleep through it. Showers, coffee makers, and television were like white noise but, his alarm worked annoyingly well at getting him up. He lived with his boyfriend, so sometimes George woke up to Joe, quite literally, starting his morning with a bang. 

But usually, Joe kept it simple. 

“George.” He said after cleaning up his breakfast and scrolling through his Twitter. He returned to the bed and moved the pillow that George had sunk beneath, gently touching his shoulder. 

George let out a small huff in response. Even when he was asleep, he could be quite the conversationalist. 

“I know you’re awake.” Joe reminded. “You do this every morning.” 

He didn’t have to look at him to know that George would be fighting off one of those tired half-smiles reserved solely for him. George was a train-wreck prior to 8 am, unable to put together more than a few words and terribly clingy, but he did his best.

“ _ You _ do this every morning.” George’s voice was quiet, muffled beneath cotton and sleep. After a pause, he let out a loud, dramatic groan and turned on his side to face Joe. 

“Leave me alone,” he said with a huff, burdened by his incapability to ignore his boyfriend even in his sleep. 

George never got much of a response to that, nor did Joe press the conversation further. He waited expectantly for George to give up on his quiet and give him the attention he asked. 

“Fuck,” George whined, lobbing the pillow towards Joe. With closed eyes and a tired arm, the pillow bounced harmlessly down the bed. “ _ Why _ ?” He muttered to himself before raising his voice, waxing dramatically so, “I wish I had a normal fucking boyfriend who woke up at a normal fucking time. Who gave me attention at night and not in the morning. Not while I’m sleeping.” 

Squinting an eye open, George looked up to see the smug look on Joe’s face. It was subtle, but he knew that Joe was endeared, and this was exactly why he woke him up every morning before he left.

“Well? I’m up. Now kiss me and fuck off.” 

“You’re not,” Joe corrected, but he wasn’t expecting George to leap out of bed any time soon. In the beginning of their relationship, there had been plenty of times where George appeared to be awake, but later revealed his surprise when he didn’t remember a single conversation had. Joe had learned his lesson, resigned to the fact that George would happily talk at every possible opportunity. 

He reached over to push George’s hair out of his face. “But okay.” 

Tater Tot had been disturbed by the pillow bouncing by her, and she stood up, trotting into George’s space and sitting down expectantly between them. 

George got his kiss from Joe, a quiet and sweet  _ I love you _ . 

He got his kiss from Tater Tot, a wet nose pressing against his cheek. 

Joe called Tater Tot away, and she settled down again. Joe reminded him when he was due to be home and suggested George’s day would start better if he got up at his alarm. 

George grumbled at his advice, pulling on the sheets and turning away from him. Joe patted his ass on the way out, and the front door open and shut soon after. 

When his alarm went off later that morning, Tater Tot joined in, howling along until George sat up and quieted her with another treat. She happily took George’s vacated spot on the bed, preventing him from returning. 

He snapped a picture and texted it to Joe with  _ r u responsible for teaching her this??? _

Joe sent back a smiley face. Minutes later, as George rushed to find his other shoe, Joe sent the information for a new dog park that had just opened up a few blocks away and a single question mark.

Tater Tot had accidentally become a part of their lives, but now their world revolved around her. 

George didn’t think it was half bad.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Not representational of the real men. Solely based off the portrayals from the HBO series.
> 
> 2\. Kinda edited. Sometimes unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. Title credit to _Steel Rail Blues_ by Gordon Lightfoot.
> 
> 4\. hi yall  
> this is my first bob story, and my first time posting on ao3. (i haven't written ff since 2014; i hope it's not obvious.)
> 
> i just wanted to write some fluff because i love luztoye, and i think they deserve to be happy.  
> 5\. follow me on tumblr @ capnixons


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